


blue

by Jacks8n



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacks8n/pseuds/Jacks8n
Summary: The first time they meet, they've been married for 3760 years.





	blue

There’s a flower in the kitchen. It’s a sleepy blue thing that drapes from its vase like it’s settled into a sigh, left for her to find. Amane smiles as she drapes her sweater over the nearest stool.

“Thanks!” she shouts up the stairs. It was sweet of her sister to leave a birthday surprise.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Amane curls her toes over the edge of the cliff. Far, far below, the deep pool shines in the late afternoon sun. Cottonwood fuzz coats the surface. Her sister, soaked and giggling, waves from the shore.

Amane backpedals over the fallen pine needles, shaking her head. “I can’t!”

“Yes you can!” her sister shouts, a laugh in her voice. Amane drops into a squat and wraps her arms around her legs. No way.

“A good day to you, madam.”

Amane bolts upright and spins.

The girl, roughly her age, is dressed in a heavy leather jacket and tight leggings. Her smile is charming and warm, like Amane is a pleasant surprise.

“Oh daisies,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck. “I beg your pardon for the fright.”

“You didn’t scare me,” says Amane. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone else up here.”

“Wasn’t expecting to catch a filly myself,” says the girl, frowning at her watch. She squints up at the sun like it’s offended her. “Have you the time?”

Amane raises an eyebrow. “About three.”

“Three…” says Canary, eyeing Amane up and down with confused horror before smacking her forehead. “Oh! I meant the year.”

“You want to know what year it is?” asks Amane, slowly, like the sentence is unfolding in her hands.

“Roger.”

“Roger. Um—2014.”

“Twenty fourt—holy fuck.” The girl taps at her watch, and it shoots a fizzling spark. Amane takes a cautious step back, keeping track of the cliff’s edge with her heel.

The closer she looks, the less familiar the girl seems. Her choker morphs from one celtic knot to the next as though it’s a fluid tattoo. Silver flashes on her temple when she brushes her hair out of her eyes.

“Right, just a moment.”

The air splits, and Amane spooks back into a free fall.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The dress doesn’t fit quite right. The bust is loose, puckering the collar, but it would do for a semi-formal reception. Amane puts her street clothes back on and steps out of the dressing room.

The girl smiles at her, cheeky this time when Amane jumps, grasping the door frame for balance. They’re almost chest to chest in the narrow hallway.

“How long’s it been?”

“What?” asks Amane, rubbing her eyes. When she opens them, the girl is still there.

“Since you last saw me.”

Amane shakes her head and leans back against the closed door. “Um, a month or two? Six weeks.”

The girl makes a whiny, shocked sound and grimaces at her watch. “Okay. Okay. Thanks.”

She reaches for it again, and Amane lunges for something to say.

“Wh—why.”

The girl looks up at her, eyes wide. She glances left and right, like perhaps Amane’s talking to someone else, before meeting her stare. She smiles, lopsided, and points at her watch. “Busted my porter a bit. Trying to gauge how off it is. I’m gonna jump again, alright? See you…”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
On the day of her cousin’s wedding, she finds a perfectly fitted black dress in the back of her closet. Amane wonders how she ever forgot about it.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“...soon.”

Amane slams back into the elevator mirror, and it thunks, reverberating loudly in the confined space.

“Holy fuck,” says Amane, knuckles white around the strap of her bag.

“Time?” asks the girl, tilting her head.

“Fuck, just give me a second,” says Amane, massaging her temple.

The girl muffles her laughter, but her shoulders still shake. The jacket is the same.

“Oh, oh, you think this is funny, huh?” she says, and the girl breaks, folding over her knees.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, though she doesn’t sound it.

“Yeah, sure you are. Eight months.”

“Eight holy shit! Should’ve just been an hour.” 

The elevator dings open, and Amane stares out awkwardly. Meeting with her academic advisor suddenly seems much less appealing. The girl looks from her to the door and strides out. She follows, already forming an excuse to bail on her appointment.

They sit beside each other in the waiting room. The girl undoes the backing of her watch with a screwdriver from her pocket. The mechanics tick smooth and silently, but she sets to work fiddling with them.

“It’s my fault for knocking it so hard,” she says absentmindedly, tightening a spring. There’s a cottonwood seed tuft in her hair.

“Who are you?”

The girl looks up, eyes wide. “Canary. You?”

“Amane.”

“Amane.” Canary looks her up and down, then clips the backing on. “Well, thanks for the help, Amane.” She straps on the watch with practiced ease.

“Wait!”

Canary freezes.

“I meant, like, who are you.”

Canary winces. “Oh, like, what’s going on.”

“Yeah.”

She taps the watch. “Time traveller.”

“Right. Gathered.”

“Right.”

They stare at each other. Canary glances at the watch like she’s itching to pull the chute on their conversation. Amane wrings her wrists.

“So you’re not, like, in a rush at all then, are you?”

Canary blinks. For a moment, Amane thinks she'll press the button her finger hovers over, but then she lowers her hand and smiles faintly. “No, I’m not.”

Amane bites her lip. What do you offer a time traveler? “Coffee?”

Canary beams. “That sounds nice.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The porter fits comfortably around her wrist. Canary lies back in the grass beside her. Overhead, the sky is purple.

“It’s heavier than it looks,” says Amane.

“Mm. A lot of the mechanics are made of gold.”

A whistle sings from the woods. Amane never quite gets used to all the unremarkable unfamiliarities.

“Canary!” calls Killua, hands cupped around his mouth. Amane waves down at him, kneeling beside the clear pool pool with her other travelling partner at his side. The odd one has his face so close to the water his nose almost touches it.

“Coming!” She rolls up and brushes off the gnats skittering across her jacket.

The four of them kneel beside the water, salty and faintly glowing.

“You’re sure…?” asks Killua.

“Of course I’m sure,” says Gon, frowning out at the lake.

“But are you?” asks Canary.

Gon scowls at her. “Tell me more—”

Canary lunges to click off the translator on Amane’s temple. Gon finishes in a language she doesn’t even recognize, and Killua laughs while knocking out the arm Gon’s weight is on so he falls face first into the water. Canary drags him back up by his shoulders, sputtering and shaking off the water.

Amane clicks her translator back on.

“What?”

“Nothing,” coughs Gon, wiping water out of his eyes.

“Sorry, he’s stupid,” says Killua, throwing in a jab at his ribs for good measure. They devolve into a bicker.

“Are they always like this?” asks Amane.

“Um—yeah,” she says, smiling apologetically. To the boys: “We’re gonna go somewhere else.” Neither of them react, too busy trying to shove reeds down each other’s shirts.

They walk along the edge of the pond. The glow comes from the rocks at its bottom; bioluminescence, Canary says. From the algae. A wonder that vanished twenty million years before humanity opened its eyes.

Amane slips on the damp stones, and Canary uses it as an excuse to hold her hand. They find an outcrop hidden from sight and dangle their feet into the pool. Amane rests her head on Canary’s shoulder, and Canary leans into her.

The sun sets, and the lake explodes with the golden light of a hundred thousand fireflies.

Their fingers are still intertwined.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They hover outside the city, aglow and broiling through the witches hour, waiting for clearance to enter. Drones race around the floating skyscrapers in seemingly chaotic patterns, forming a cloud of blinking lights. The larger ships lumber along, bedazzled with eccentric patterns.

Canary joins her on the edge of the open loading ramp.

“It really is amazing,” says Amane, voice soft. Meteor City. Canary’s home. Canary described it well, but Amane’s imagination couldn’t compare.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling lopsidedly. “It really is.”

“Which way’s your apartment?”

Canary hums and points. Amane frowns. Canary laughs and scoots closer. Amane leans into her. “Oh, I see.”

“It’s in one of those ovals above the sparkly blue.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. Gorgeous view”

Amane remembers herself, hand on Canary’s thigh, and stiffens, blushing hard. Canary laughs and threads their fingers together.

“Guess who else is beautiful?”

Amane swallows hard and stares up at the sky. Light pollution makes it difficult to see any stars. “Who?”

“Me. And guess who else?” Smartass.

“Who?”

“You’re not guessing,” says Canary, sing-song and lilting.

Amane rolls her eyes. “I’ll shove you off, I swear I will,” she says, though there’s no bite to her words. Canary’s breath ghosts on her lips.

It’s their first kiss and their thousandth.

Amane recalls the flower.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to grammarpedant for the prompt, 63 and 97 ":O! 
> 
> accepting prompts from this baybe: http://whipshaw.tumblr.com/post/175759610503/fanfiction-trope-mash-up


End file.
